Equilibrium
by xArle
Summary: The left brain is logical, rational, and analytical. The right brain is random, creative, and intuitive. Together, they form a balance. M/M


**summary/notes:** I... don't really know how to explain this. The product of me trying to study but getting distracted by otp feels.  
The journey of Miles Edgeworth and Maya Fey's relationship... with some anatomy and psychology because I'm a huge nerd.  
I kind of know where I'm going with this and there are going to be at least three chapters.  
I don't own Ace Attorney.

* * *

**i. left brain**

The left brain represents logic, knowledge, and detail. It thinks rationally, step-by-step, taking every little piece of information into account. It conducts thorough examinations before coming up with conclusions. It sees the trees first, not the forest. It not only _represents _knowledge – left brain _embodies _it. There is always an explanation for everything. A _logical _explanation.

Miles Edgeworth cannot stand anything "magical" or "supernatural" – things that are supposed to be appealing _because _of their lack of logic. He rolls his eyes at idiots who waste their money on so-called psychics, because it is scientifically impossible for any mortal to predict the future. Even as a child, Miles never cared for magicians and their two-bit tricks that could easily be explained away. Yes, there was a logical reason behind everything on this Earth. Things like "miracles" and "coincidences" were possible, but anything that claimed to be beyond an explanation was nothing but a sham.

This is why Miles' face contorts with disgust when he first reads the case file. _State vs. Fey._

Fey. How could he ever forget that name? The name that stirred up all of those memories, and none of them were good.

Miles could only describe the Fey family as a group of frauds who somehow made a living pulling the wool over people's eyes by convincing them that they had the power to communicate with the deceased. The whole idea of it makes Miles shake his head in amazement at the sheer _gullibility _of the human race.

Even more amazing to Miles is the fact that the _police _would be so desperate and foolish enough to contact these "spirit mediums." He tightens his grip on the tea cup in his left hand, because every time he thinks about that… incident, his blood boils and all the well-concealed rage sends tremors into his fingers. He was fine with the existence of these crazy people until they had the _gall _to get involved with _his _life – to claim that they had contacted the spirit of his late father, the spirit of Gregory Edgeworth, defense attorney, a man equally _logical _in thought process to Miles who would have _scoffed _at the idea of using a "medium's" testimony as a lead in a court case and how _DARE _they utterly _desecrate _the memory of such a man by telling such _abhorrent _lies in his na—

The sound of glass cracking snaps Miles out of his little trance. He frowns. Pity – he quite liked that tea cup. Fortunately, the glass broke evenly, so he promptly picks up the broken shards from his desk and throws them in the trash bin.

As he walks back to his desk, the gaudy suit jacket framed in the corner of his office catches his attention. His lips curl up in a sullen smirk. He never really thought about it before, but there was another constant reminder of a Fey on his very own wall. His first real trial, which had ended in disaster. _She _was the defense attorney.

And now… well, now she was dead. Murdered by her own sister, no less.

Miles returns to his desk and looks over the paperwork one more time. "Hopefully this will be the last time I ever have to deal with anything concerning the name 'Fey' again," the prosecutor mumbles to himself.

Miles does not yet know that he will one day be eating those words.

* * *

'_She looks ridiculous,' _he notes with a raised brow as he dully glances up at the defendant's chair. Between the… interesting choice of clothing and the way her hair is pinned up like that, it looks like she's dressed up for Halloween – and, even so, someone who is old enough to be tried for _murder _is far too old to go trick-or-treating. He isn't concerned about her, though. She's just another criminal who is going to end up behind bars. Like every other trial, this one will end in his victory.

No, he isn't concerned about Maya Fey at all – he's far more intrigued by the spiky-haired defense attorney, the man he knows first-hand had never been naturally sharp or analytical enough to stand in a court of law, but here he is.

Miles assumes that after this trial, he will never have to deal with anything concerning the name "Fey" or "Wright" ever again.

Miles Edgeworth is incorrect.

He feels no pain as the hot coffee drips down his skin. He stares at the crumpled up Styrofoam in his hand with a blank expression. He has a habit of breaking cups these days, it seems.

"Wright… Wright… Wright…" he mutters under his breath. Gumshoe is staring at him, but the second Miles returns the look with an icy stare of his own the detective is out of the room before the prosecutor has a chance to dock his pay.

How could this happen? He, Miles Edgeworth, the "demon attorney," the man who studied directly under legendary prosecutor Manfred von Karma, defeated by a mere greenhorn?

"…Fey."

That girl had a hand in it, too. She had done _something, _she _had _to have done something, because why else would Redd White start wailinglike a child and confessing to everything all of a sudden? What was the significance of the names she was reading? And _how _did a girl who had been in detention for the previous couple of days acquire such information? The very aura of the court room had changed as soon as she started speaking.

Miles couldn't explain it. He couldn't explain any of it, and it was driving him crazy – the lack of _logic _and _reason _and _rational thought _was simply _maddening. _If having his perfect record (which was, according to his mentor, the most important thing in the world, the very _definition _of himself) stripped from him wasn't soul-crushing enough… Miles couldn't even explain how it happened.

He didn't know what hurt more.

* * *

"_Mr. Wright." _

_The trial is just about over but the man still jumps like a child expecting to be scolded when the judge speaks to him. "Yes, Your Honor?"_

"_It appears you have brought about yet another miracle." _

_The fool is grinning from ear to ear and sheepishly puts a hand behind his head. "I… thank you, your honor," he says with a smile. Something inside me stirs, and I have to hold back the urge to shout 'Objection.'_

"_I think not, your honor."_

_The room falls silent when I open my mouth – I tend to have that effect in court, I've noticed – so I continue, although I'm not quite sure what I want to say._

"_Will Powers was innocent. That he should be found so is only natural... not a miracle."_

* * *

"You listen to me, Phoenix Wright. Don't ever show your face in front of me again."

Miles Edgeworth doesn't know who he is anymore. He doesn't know why he acted the way he did during that trial – why he acted not only so out of character for himself, but for the role of a prosecutor as well – and he does not know what possessed him to make that _outburst _right before the verdict was declared.

More things that he can't explain.

It's driving him insane.

So while on the outside he is _ordering _Phoenix Wright and the still ridiculous looking Fey girl to stay away from him, deep down, on the inside, he is _begging. _He has already lost his record – he has already lost himself.

Miles Edgeworth _prays _that after this trial, he will never have to deal with anything concerning the name "Fey" or "Wrght" again.

His prayers were far from answered.

* * *

As the earthquake leaves him curled up on the detention center floor, Miles Edgeworth is nine years old again.

He is nine years old, a scared little boy in a dark elevator. He is desperately trying to stay calm, but between the lack of oxygen and the fact that the bailiff is picking a fight with his father, Miles is finding this to be a very difficult task.

He wants to do something – _anything._

So when Yogi's pistol falls from its holster and lands near the boy's feet, he picks it up because he knows that if he doesn't at least _try _to be useful, the fighting won't stop and the angry, oxygen-deprived bailiff might hurt his father.

"STOP IT!" he shrieks as he chucks the pistol in the men's direction.

There is a bang, and a scream…

And then there is nothing.

He wakes up, but there is _still _nothing, because Gregory Edgeworth is dead. And all the boy can do is cry, not because his father is dead – but because he knows _why_.

Miles Edgeworth will not have a full night's sleep for the next fifteen years.

* * *

"Maya Fey! You will leave the courtroom immediately."

Miles Edgeworth is dumbstruck.

He is, once again, devoid of any logical explanation for what is going on. Logic seems to be thrown out the window every time he is in her presence.

As she is being physically _dragged _out of the courtroom by the bailiff, Miles wracks his brain and tries to recall any instance in which he did a_nything _to warrant this girl's devotion.

He stares down at her from the defendant's chair, and their eyes meet for a brief moment.

She _smiles – _a genuine, sunny smile – and winks.

And then she is gone.

And then his lip starts to tremble, because Miles has come up with nothing. He realizes that no, he hasn't done anything to deserve this kindness.

He is devoid of a logical explanation, but this time it bothers him for different reasons.

* * *

"I… I'm not sure how to say this."

"I know! I know!" The cheeky girl is practically _bouncing_ up and down with excitement. "Try 'thank you.'"

The prosecutor swallows hard. This is quite possibly the first _real _conversation he's ever had with the girl – or _anyone _in a long time, really, because he's in too much shock at the moment to uphold his usual cold demeanor. "I… I see." He pauses. "T-Thank you, Wright."

Phoenix looks equally uncomfortable in this situation. "Y-You're welcome."

Maya shakes her head in mock-disappointment. "I think you could have done better than _that,_" she chides. Miles flinches a bit, and Maya is using all of her willpower to _not _double over laughing, because Miles Edgeworth – big, bad, demon prosecutor Edgeworth – doesn't seem to realize that she's teasing and looks almost hurt by the criticism of a silly seventeen year old girl.

"Oof! S-Sorry… I'm not good at this sort of thing."

The Fey's lips curl into a coy smile. "You've got a lot to learn, Edgeworth!"

As Miles Edgeworth looks down into the girl's eyes, he notices that they are bright onyx – a contradiction that he doesn't feel the need or want to point out.

Yes, Miles Edgeworth – logical, left-brain dominant Miles Edgeworth – certainly has a lot to learn.


End file.
